


Everything Stays Right Where You Left It

by Kiranokira



Category: Glee
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Arguing, Blaine Tries to Make Sexual Jokes, Coming Out, Communication Failure, Established Relationship, Kurt Hummel Stays at Dalton Academy, Kurt Suffers Through Them, Learning How to Relationship Well, M/M, New York City, University, White Collar Family
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-20
Updated: 2019-10-20
Packaged: 2020-12-24 21:47:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,048
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21106532
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kiranokira/pseuds/Kiranokira
Summary: Blaine sits next to Kurt on the bed, just like he did so many nights last year, and says, “I missed you too.” His eyes are oddly bright. “I hate fighting with you.”“Please shut up,” Kurt implores.Blaine agreeably locks his lips, then hugs Kurt tight.There is only one boy in the entirety of the world who Kurt would allow into his arms wearing a tacky, terribly overpriced, cheaply made university sweatshirt, and it’s this gorgeous headache smiling sweetly against Kurt’s neck right now.





	Everything Stays Right Where You Left It

**Author's Note:**

> I changed the title from "Fuel-Fed Fires" to what it is now because I just spent the last two hours listening to Marceline sing Everything Stays and I'm all emotional about it now.
> 
> Anyway, I have a complicated relationship with Glee canon in that I love the foundation of klaine set up in S1-2 and then almost nothing that follows. I thought S3-S6 was super unfair to Blaine's characterization and wow do I disagree that Blaine would ever cheat on Kurt have you met Blaine Devon Anderson I mean my god no. A whole canyon full of no. Oceans brimming with no. There were moments between them I enjoy because Chris and Darren are solid actors, but maaan I think their relationship was Wronged.
> 
> So I wanted to play around with the evolution of how Kurt and Blaine learn to communicate with each other, starting from their first months together and leading up to several years down the line. I love established couple dynamics, and klaine have so much rewarding potential to explore that way, so I had a lot of fun with this. <3
> 
> JUSTICE FOR BLAINE. A h e m.

“I beg your pardon?”

It sounds sharp, but it shouldn’t. Kurt _intended_ for his delivery to be 20% annoyed, 50% curious, 18% indignant, and 12% genuinely bewildered (for that innocent edge), but somewhere between thought and speech, his words turned sharp enough to slice.

What’s worse is that Kurt can tell from Blaine’s wide eyes that he’s heard a very different assortment of emotions in Kurt’s voice from what Kurt wanted him to hear. Which means Kurt’s just lost control of the situation.

He doesn’t really want to back down on this, though.

So he doesn’t.

Maybe he could uncross his arms and sit down, though? Maybe go back to making out with his boyfriend?

…No, he doesn’t want to do that, either. (Okay, he does, but.) Blaine is cuter than any human has any right to be, but what he just said was _rude_ and _insensitive_ and as much as Kurt would like to ignore it in favor of making out some more, he can’t just let it go. If life has taught Kurt anything, it’s that he has to keep his guard up. Even with his boyfriend, apparently.

Blaine Anderson may not be a fighter, but he’s taken Kurt down with little more than a smile on numerous occasions, so he’s not to be underestimated.

“Did I do something wrong?” Blaine asks. _He_ sounds 90% genuinely bewildered and 10% amused—and, _oh_, that 10% is _not_ doing anything to cool Kurt’s anger right now.

They’ve been in the library making out near their open textbooks for a good ten minutes, using their Saturday afternoon to its fullest by being in the one place at Dalton that no one else will be on such a gloriously sunny autumn day. This is just one of many truly spectacular perks to having a boyfriend at an all boys’ boarding school, and Kurt would very much like to enjoy it some more. Once they’ve sorted out this stupid thing Blaine just said to him.

But…

There isn’t an _ounce_ of remorse in Blaine’s voice, which seems…incongruous with the aspects of Blaine’s personality with which Kurt is familiar. Which means…

Blaine has no idea why Kurt’s upset.

Which means Kurt now has to _tell_ Blaine why he’s upset.

And oh, Kurt can already tell that it’s going to sound _impossibly stupid_ as soon as he gives it voice.

So he doesn’t.

“No, you didn’t,” Kurt says with a sour smile. “Of course not.”

It’s not only that he’s disappointed to find out that Blaine has rough edges. Kurt is _aware_ that Blaine is human just like him, and that it’s unreasonable to expect Blaine to be perfect, but Kurt _did_ hope that Blaine’s rough edges would consist of things like not having the entire cast of the original Broadway cast of Into the Woods memorized or pouring the milk before the cereal.

”You know,” Kurt says, “I just remembered. I have something to do. See you at practice.” He scrunches his nose in a mockery of something cute and turns crisply toward the door. He begins to make a most debonair exit out of the library with his chin held high—

When Blaine swiftly interrupts him by dashing ahead and blocking Kurt’s way before he can even make it halfway to the door. “Wait, wait, wait—”

“Please move,” Kurt says stiffly.

“Why?” Blaine’s voice is inching closer to 99% bewilderment. “Kurt, what did I even do?”

Do? Why does he keep saying “do” and not ”say”?

…Oh, no.

Oh…

…no.

Blaine’s original amusement and his wide open confusion force Kurt to replay the moment he took offense to and realize…

He misheard.

To be fair to Kurt, when one is kissing someone as beautiful as Blaine, it’s almost criminally easy to mistake one word for another. This is not entirely Kurt’s fault.

But now Kurt’s made a scene, and he’s never had a fight with Blaine before, and now Blaine will know that the boy he’s dating is deeply troubled in the brain and—

“Okay,” Blaine says, “Kurt? Kurt. You’ve got to say something, because the face you’re making is starting to make me nervous.” He _looks_ it, too. His hands are hovering close by Kurt’s arms, an urge probably inspired by how good it felt to be curled up together on the library’s sofa literally seventy seconds ago.

_Ugh_.

He _misheard_. It’s still Blaine’s fault that Kurt’s brain wasn’t operating well enough to hear the difference between a genuine criticism and a dry joke, but—who could concentrate on vocal nuances while kissing lips like those?

“It’s nothing,” Kurt says, mostly truthfully. When Blaine frowns, Kurt adds, with painful reluctance, “I misheard.”

“Misheard _what?_”

“Nothing!”

Unfamiliar emotions cloud Blaine’s eyes, and Kurt panics. Blaine is only ever sincere and direct with Kurt, so this is…devastating is too strong a word. Isn’t it? It must be. It sounds so dramatic. But whatever it is still jolts inside Kurt’s stomach.

“Please just forget the last hundred and twenty seconds,” Kurt implores, and seals his request by framing Blaine’s face in his hands and kissing him.

“The last two minutes, you mean?” Blaine asks wryly, when they separate.

“You’re on thin ice, mister,” Kurt warns, and kisses him again.

Ultimately, Blaine doesn’t push, and Kurt ends up forgetting the whole thing by breakfast the next day.

(When Blaine brings it up two years later, Kurt doesn’t even remember it happening, so neither of them will ever know whatever it was that Kurt misheard.)

•

Summer breaks aren’t especially relaxing for Blaine. It always feels like he’s forgotten his confidence in a box at Dalton, and by the time he gets home he’s six years younger and four decibels quieter.

Luckily, the house is big enough that Blaine doesn’t have to run into any member of his family if he doesn’t want to. He knows which rooms his mother and father frequent, and Cooper keeps to himself whenever he’s home, so it’s easy for Blaine to plan every interaction in advance. He makes sure to go into every conversation with at least three ideas for a graceful exit if the atmosphere gets weird or uncomfortable.

Take today for example. His mother usually eats breakfast by herself at six o’clock at the kitchen island before work, usually with her phone in hand. Blaine rolled out of bed just after six and headed downstairs to get a quick conversation in before she left.

When she asked him, “What’re you doing today?” Blaine knew to say, “There’s a book I have to read, so I’m gonna read it by the pool later.“

It got her to look up from her phone with amusement and say, “Sure you will,” which he answered with a charming grin.

It was a great exchange, and then she had to leave, so Blaine went back upstairs and slept for another two hours. At some point, he heard the garage open and close, which was his father leaving for work. The house has been empty except for him ever since.

Around three in the afternoon when Kurt texts him, _Am I ever going get to see your house or is this going to be one of those TV shows where it’s only described but never actually shown to the audience?_ Blaine doesn’t have an answer ready for him.

It’s not that he doesn’t _want_ to have Kurt over. Kurt isn’t bothered by the financial gap between their families, and it’s not like Blaine hasn’t _actively fantasized_ about having Kurt in his room or by the pool or in the guest master shower but—

There is a delicate balance in the Anderson house. Kurt’s home isn’t made of glass the way Blaine’s is. Kurt hasn’t had a lifetime to learn the Right Subjects and the Wrong Subjects. He doesn’t know what political issues will set off Blaine’s parents, and worse, Kurt won’t care. And while Blaine would kind of love to see his boyfriend pick apart his father’s shallow understanding of gay culture, Blaine _also_ has to live with these people until he graduates next year.

He knows he can’t ignore Kurt’s message forever, though. After twenty minutes of lounging on the family room floor and brooding at the ceiling, Blaine turns over onto his stomach and writes back, _It’s not up to me. It’s a production issue. Budgetary concerns, you know how it goes in the biz._

Banter is comfortable. Banter is safe. It’s a surefire (and slightly WASPy) way to avoid answering questions.

Until Kurt writes back, _Do your parents know about us?_

Which…uh.

That’s…not something Blaine is prepared to talk about either.

Listen.

See—just….

Look.

Yes, okay, he and Kurt have been dating for a year, and yes, Blaine has met Burt multiple times. Blaine really likes Burt, and he’s so happy that Burt is so incredibly supportive of both Kurt and Kurt’s relationship with Blaine. Burt is…amazing.

That’s the problem.

Blaine’s parents are…not like Burt.

Not even close.

When Blaine came out to his mother four years ago, she laughed like she’d heard a joke and told him, “No, you’re not.” He hasn’t brought it up with her since. To this day, she pretends it never happened.

With that experience under his belt, Blaine only told his father because he didn’t want his mother to beat him to it, and he still remembers his father’s grimace and brusque, “You’re too young to know that yet.”

About a week later, Cooper found out from one of them and texted Blaine: _Hey Blainey, you finally told ‘em, huh? Me, I’ve ALWAYS known you were gay, so maybe you should’ve run it past your big brother first. Doesn’t sound like it went well. Anyway, love you and support you, kid!_

Blaine focused on the last bit and wrote back, _Thanks, Coop._

After the incident at the Sadie Hawkins dance, Blaine heard his parents telling some relatives a fairy tale they made up about their kind straight son valiantly defending his gay friend from bullies. It made Blaine sick to hear, but he didn’t step in to correct them.

It’s one thing to say he’s gay—it’s another thing to have to _convince_ people.

And now…Blaine is honestly a little off balance. Maybe even a little afraid of how they’ll all treat Kurt. In the best case scenario, Blaine’s mother will probably offer some surface smiles and reluctant hospitality, which Kurt will see through right away. Blaine’s father will introduce himself with a firm handshake and then disappear into the den until Kurt leaves, which Kurt will take offense to. And Cooper will…

Probably just be obnoxiously charming, actually.

Which presents other problems.

So Blaine lets Kurt’s text message go on read for a few hours, hoping he’ll think of something to write back in the meantime.

His mother gets home around seven, and Blaine helps her put away the groceries. She’s picked up takeaway Chinese food, too, and Blaine’s eyes gleam with interest as she pulls out the tray brimming with beef and broccoli. They set up the containers in a kind of buffet line, then eat together at the island while the news plays on the flatscreen over the sink.

“So, did you read?” she asks at one point.

“Cover to cover,” he says. “Twice. Might even read it again before bed.”

She smirks and pokes his cheek with her sauce-slathered chopsticks.

“Eugh!”

The rumble of the garage door announces his father’s arrival. He ignores the plate set out for him and helps himself to eating from the General Tso’s container directly.

“Your brother’s flying in next week,” he says. “I want you two to clean the pool.”

They have a professional come by to do it in autumn and spring, but in the summer it’s Blaine and Cooper’s chore. To teach them responsibility or something. Blaine’s a little smug that Cooper still has to do it even though Cooper’s twenty-six and hasn’t lived with them since he left for college.

On the surface, everything is fine. It’s nice to have dinner with his parents. It’s nice to have them both smiling at him.

He’s a good son.

All he has to do is keep one part of who he is to himself.

The doorbell rings.

“And that’s probably Jeanine,” Blaine’s father sighs, sliding off his stool while he wipes his hands on a napkin. Jeanine is sixty-two and regularly comes over to tell them their pool pipes are leaking and ruining her garden. She wears her hair in a _Chicago_-esque bob, keeps a Cavalier King Charles Spaniel, and kind of reminds Blaine of Kurt’s former classmate Rachel.

It’s a long walk to the front door, so Blaine and his mother continue eating and quickly become immersed in a news story about recalled spinach. Then a very familiar tenor cuts through the long hallway and directly into Blaine’s heart.

“Good evening, Mr. Anderson. My name is Kurt Hummel.”

_Oh shit._

Blaine’s mother tilts her head at Blaine, her expression mild but curious. Kurt’s voice is unmistakably young, and naturally she’d assume he’s connected to Blaine in some way.

_Shit. Shit. Shit._

When Blaine pushes off his stool and runs out of the kitchen, his mother recoils in surprise and shouts, “Blaine!”

He apologizes without looking back.

Turns out, the rush is kind of pointless. By the time Blaine gets to the door, he can tell by the atmosphere that his father understands exactly who he’s looking at. Kurt, meanwhile, is beautifully rebellious, his chin held up with almost mulish intent. Blaine’s father is a sturdy 6’3” mountain with broad shoulders and a square chin (Blaine inherited his eyebrows and not much else), but Kurt appears to be doing everything he can with his sheer obstinance to counter that.

“Kurt,” Blaine says, strangled.

Kurt’s eyes, on the journey from Blaine’s father to Blaine himself, change from borderline aggressive to visibly wounded.

Blaine can almost hear it: “What did you tell me about _courage?_”

Blaine has no idea what to do or say.

“Are you a friend of Blaine’s from school?” Blaine’s father asks. He’s still in his dark gray Hugo Boss suit, and even with his tie gone and his shirt unbuttoned at the neck, he’s the very picture of conservative authority.

Kurt doesn’t accept the polite olive branch. “No,” he says. “I’m not his friend.” There’s a half-breath of hesitation, then he pushes on: “I’m his boyfriend. Or at least, I thought I was.”

Blaine’s mouth drops in horror. “Kurt—!”

Kurt scowls at him and walks away.

Icy panic seizes Blaine’s every nerve, and he’s moving before he’s made any conscious decision to do so. He rushes past his father, making sure not to look at whatever face he’s making, and dashes down the drive. He’s aware that he’s in for an agonizingly awkward conversation when he faces his parents again, but right now his entire world is upset and walking away from him.

“Kurt, Kurt, wait—”

He catches Kurt’s forearm just as they turn the corner of the house. Kurt’s car is in the guest lot parked right next to Blaine’s, and Blaine has half a second to wonder how Kurt even got inside when he notices the gate is still open and a repair truck is parked next to it. Broken pipes, right.

Kurt yanks his arm out of Blaine’s grip and faces him, his eyes vicious.

“I didn’t _actually_ think you hadn’t told them,” Kurt says. “I just thought you got caught up doing something else. I thought, ‘Maybe I’ll go over and surprise him. Sure, he didn’t write back, but this is _Blaine_, so I’m sure he has a good reason.’” He barks out a sarcastic laugh. “I didn’t think you _ignored me on purpose because you’re hiding me from them_. You know, I haven’t seen you since I graduated, _Blaine_, and I’ve _missed you_.” A tiny hitch punctuates the end of that sentence and Kurt hurries to cover his mouth like it’s betrayed him.

This is worse than any of Blaine’s worst fears. In no scenario he’s ever imagined does Kurt show up at his house unannounced and then work himself up to tears after he finds out that Blaine hasn’t told his family about them yet. Blaine has nothing planned to handle this.

He’s not even sure Kurt wants Blaine to touch him right now, so Blaine carefully keeps his distance.

“Kurt…I’m really sorry.”

Apologizing is somehow the wrong move. Kurt drops his hand from his mouth and says, “Whatever. You know what? Fine. I can’t do this right now.” He palms his keys out of his pocket and shoves his sleeve against his eyes as he heads toward his car.

“Kurt, come on—”

Kurt chokes out a bitter laugh. “What, Blaine? ‘Come on’ _what?_“

Blaine has no plan prepared, so he’ll have to wing it. Kurt isn’t facing him, but he isn’t moving either, so Blaine rests his hand on Kurt’s bicep and says, “Can we talk? Please?”

Kurt doesn’t answer him for a long, horrible moment. Then he says, “This better be _good_, Anderson.”

Blaine’s not entirely sure it will be, but he’s going to try.

The sun’s long since gone down, and the backyard is stained with long golden rectangles of light from the house’s windows. There aren’t many houses in their neighborhood, and the forest surrounding them has been carefully cultivated to wrap around the back and provide privacy for residents. Living here can feel either relaxing or isolating depending on Blaine’s mood. Right now, with Kurt here but angry with him, it’s a little of both.

Blaine can only imagine what his father is telling his mother right now, but that’s a problem for later. Best case scenario, they’ll all pretend it never happened, just like Blaine’s coming out. And then maybe someday Blaine will send them wedding invitations, and his parents can pretend they’re flyers for a new outlet mall and quietly throw them away.

Blaine leads Kurt by the hand to the pool. It’s down the hill a bit and fenced off from the rest of the property, so some areas aren’t visible from the house. Blaine wasn’t wearing socks or shoes when he ran outside, so he rolls up his pajama bottom legs and sits on the edge so he can put his feet in the water.

Kurt, on the other hand, chooses to leave some distance between them. He perches on the side of a dark wicker chaise lounge chair with his hands gripping the edge.

“Explain,” Kurt says, glaring.

Blaine hesitates. He really doesn’t want to. Of course he knew logically that they’d have to have a conversation about his family one day, but he didn’t want it to go like this. He’d always envisioned it happening someday long after Blaine graduated from high school, maybe when they’d moved somewhere exciting like New York or San Francisco and Blaine could explain it quickly, efficiently, and emotionlessly.

He’s not lucky enough for that, apparently.

“I know I should have told them,” he says. “And I’m sorry I didn’t.”

Kurt doesn’t say anything. When Blaine peers up at him over his shoulder, Kurt’s expression speaks volumes. He’s clearly waiting for something better. More information. Reasons.

Well. Fair.

While Blaine is thinking, he takes in the dark lighting fixtures around the pool. This really would be the perfect place to sing Sixteen Going on Seventeen together, but something tells him Kurt isn’t in the mood. Which is a shame, really. They’ve only got a nine-month window left until Blaine turns seventeen and the authenticity is ruined.

“Blaine.”

“Wait, Kurt, I just—”

“No, Blaine, listen.”

The sound of Kurt standing up is enough to get Blaine to discard all the rough drafts in his head, pull his legs out of the pool, and hurry to stand up so he can prevent Kurt from leaving.

But Kurt isn’t going anywhere. He’s actually leaning down a little, like he was about to sit next to Blaine.

Oh.

“I shouldn’t have just come over without telling you,” Kurt says. He folds his arms over his stomach and drops his gaze. “I really am upset that you never told them, but…I guess I get it. Sort of. I just—” He opens his mouth and closes it, then shakes his head.

“What?”

Kurt meets his eyes, and his expression loses some severity. “I thought you were braver than I am. I guess it’s…weird to find out you’re not, y’know. Confident. All the time.” His nose wrinkles, and then Kurt rubs his forehead. “That sounded so much less stupid in my head. This is why life should have rehearsals.”

Blaine smiles. His chest hurts, and he wishes he weren’t barefoot and in pajamas for this, because it’s probably only reinforcing the sides of Blaine that he never wanted Kurt to see: unpolished, nervous, immature.

Quietly, Blaine admits, “I guess I didn’t want you to know that I can’t…handle…everything. I wanted you to think I knew what I was doing all the time. Kind of helps me believe it myself.” He can’t look at Kurt when he says it, and once it’s said, he realizes how ridiculous he sounds. “Rehearsals really should be a necessity of life,” he mutters.

Of all the reactions Blaine’s expecting, Kurt hugging him isn’t one of them, so he can forgive himself for his sharp intake of breath when Kurt does.

“You don’t have to try to be perfect,” Kurt whispers against his ear. “I don’t want you to be. I just…still don’t understand why you didn’t tell them.” When Blaine curls his arms around the small of Kurt’s back, Kurt answers by smoothing his palm over the spot between Blaine’s shoulder blades. “You never talk about them. Are they really that intolerant?”

He can guess what Kurt’s envisioning. Abuse, maybe, or slurs. Blaine knows he’s lucky that he doesn’t have to face that at home, and that he’s lucky that the intolerance he _does_ face is silence.

“Kind of,” he says.

Kurt makes a quiet noise in response and even sways with him a little. It’s surprisingly comforting, far more than Blaine would have guessed it could be.

And well. There’s more. It’s how Kurt smells, too. It’s a layered scent made up of fragrance, fabric softener, and hair treatments, and it always blocks out the rest of the world for Blaine. Plus, having Kurt in his arms is literally all Blaine’s wanted for weeks, and having him here all of a sudden like this is a little overwhelming.

“I’m really tired, Kurt.”

“Of what?”

Kurt’s voice is soft, and Blaine hopes he’s not angry anymore.

“Most people only have to come out once,” Blaine tells him in a whisper. “And I did. I told them years ago, but they’ve never acknowledged it. And I don’t know how to deal with them pretending they’re in some other universe where I’m not gay. I’m really, really tired of it, Kurt. I…really don’t know what to do.”

Kurt holds him tighter, and Blaine interprets that as permission to hide his face against Kurt’s neck. Most of the time, keeping his head up isn’t hard to do. He’s happy at Dalton. His friends at the Academy are his family, and he knows they’ve got his back. He has Kurt there, and Kurt’s his beacon. But here, with the people who raised him—who only seem conditionally fond of him as long as he pretends to be someone else—

“I’m sorry I made this about me,” Kurt says.

“No,” Blaine murmurs. “It’s okay.”

“It’s really not,” Kurt says. “And I’m really sorry.” He lifts his hand to the back of Blaine’s neck and squeezes gently. “I’m sorry I outed us. I maybe could have done that better.”

Blaine laughs, his voice a little wet, and decides not to say anything in return.

When Kurt goes home, Blaine goes back inside. His father’s gone to bed, his mother tells him. She’s still cleaning up dinner, so Blaine helps.

“Kurt’s in the Warblers?” she asks.

He can’t decipher anything from her tone, but he says, “Yeah, he’s a tenor,” as he pulls the wires off the containers.

“What was he here for?”

Blaine’s gut twists. He’s sixteen. He came out to his mother when he was twelve. She’s never once given him an opportunity like this, and he can’t look her in the eyes to gauge her expression or any of the hidden meaning underneath it.

“He—”

Outside just now, Kurt told Blaine, “You don’t have to do anything before you’re ready,” and kissed him.

“He, uh.”

Blaine’s mother pulls at the sides of the overfilled garbage bag and says, “You can throw that container in here. It can fit a little more.”

The relief Blaine feels leaves an oily residue on his pride. Ten minutes later, Blaine goes upstairs and finds a text message from Kurt waiting for him on his phone.

_I know this is completely unrelated, but what are your feelings on doing a rendition of Sixteen Going on Seventeen before I leave for college?_

Blaine smiles. He truly loves this boy.

Totally devoid of irony, Blaine writes, _I’ll depend on you,_ and sends it.

•

Dalton is on fire.

Kurt hears about it via a text from David, so he drops everything and rushes over. Luckily, he’s in Lima with his father, so he’s able to get to the school quick enough before it’s completely gone. He’s just in time to see it entirely engulfed by streaming orange flames climbing into the night sky.

Dalton students are assembled in clusters on the front lawn, watching silently as the fire consumes their home away from home. Shock is clear on every face. The teachers are standing with their backs to the fire, taking headcounts over and over under their breaths. The firefighters haven’t yet arrived.

Kurt runs through the quiet masses, searching for Blaine.

Nowhere. He’s nowhere.

He can’t be inside. Everyone is here, so Blaine must be too.

“Kurt!”

He sees Wes and David off to the side standing with some of the other Warblers, all of them in their pajamas. When Kurt reaches them and opens his mouth to ask where Blaine is, Wes says, ”You can’t go inside.”

All of a sudden, it’s harder for Kurt to breathe. “Why would I go inside?” he asks, numb.

“Because the building is on fire, Kurt.”

The other Warblers aren’t paying attention. That’s odd. They’re talking as if they’re hanging out in the library.

“Why would I go inside?” Kurt repeats.

“You told Blaine to stay behind,” Wes explains. ”So he did.”

No. He didn’t. He’d never—

“_I didn’t ask him to do that!_”

Wes doesn’t seem affected by Kurt shouting. Beside Wes, David says, “You can’t go inside, Kurt. You have to watch.”

“I don’t—!”

“It’s okay,” Wes says, reaching out to clasp Kurt’s bicep. “You’ll find someone else.”

“Yeah,” David says. “Cheer up. It’s only a building.”

“Blaine’s just a guy. There are others.”

This is…wrong.

David and Wes wouldn’t be blasé like this, if this were real.

Kurt’s neck and hair are damp with sweat.

He shifts against his pillow, and then Dalton Academy collapses with a horrible noise, and Kurt screams, “_BLAINE!_”

In reality, outside the nightmare, Kurt doesn’t actually scream, but he does gasp and wake up half crazed and in tears.

It’s been four months since they broke up. This isn’t Kurt’s first stress dream featuring Blaine, but it _is_ the first one where Blaine’s _died_. Off screen, of course, but still. He knows his subconscious just killed Blaine, and his heart is bright with pain as if it actually happened. Kurt hates himself for it, but he grabs his phone off the bed beside him and fumbles off a quick message to Blaine.

…What if Blaine changed his number?

When Kurt looks up, Mercedes is standing in his doorway, her eyes glazed over with exhaustion. “Are you okay?” she asks.

He doesn’t lie. “Nightmare. I’ll be fine. Sorry I woke you.” He glances at the message he sent (_Don’t read into this, but text me if you’re alive_) and tries not to let the immediate lack of response panic him. It’s half past three in the morning. There’s a good chance Blaine is asleep.

Besides, Blaine’s a sophomore at NYU, a brief ten-minute stroll from Kurt’s apartment. Blaine hasn’t been at Dalton for two years. He isn’t a burnt husk smashed under the rubble of their alma mater, Kurt tells himself firmly.

Mercedes offers Kurt a halfhearted smile and says, “If you need to talk, Kurt, I’ll listen. You know that, right?“

He nods even though he has zero intention of doing that, and she eyes him with suspicion before she leaves.

It’s half past three in the morning. Kurt has class at nine. He also promised to help Nanthana hang lights for her senior showcase at five. He’s in no mood to be awake at half past three in the morning.

He’s also in no mood to feel genuine fear over a dream that has no basis in reality. Blaine isn’t dead. Kurt has many gifts, but clairvoyance isn’t one of them. Blaine is fine. Blaine is fine. Blaine is _fine_.

Kurt stays awake anyway, messing around on his phone until half past four when a response from Blaine finally arrives.

_What’s up?_

He’s awake, then. Probably has been this whole time. Wondering what to write back to his ex writing him insane messages at half past three in the morning.

Kurt ignores the wave of relief that gives way to a wet snort. His eyes smart all of a sudden, but he refuses to cry. He cried enough over Blaine that first month, and he’s not going to do it any more.

So….

Good.

His ex is alive. Excellent. That’s all Kurt needed to know, right? Time to go back to sleep.

But he doesn’t want to put his phone down. Because it’s half past four in the morning now and maybe this is the only time Kurt will admit it, but he misses Blaine.

He misses Blaine enlisting Kurt’s classmates to sneak him into Kurt’s rehearsals at NYADA. He misses Blaine bringing him coffee while he studied at night. He misses Blaine leaving notes on Kurt’s pillow when he had to leave early for class at NYU. He misses Blaine spending more time in Kurt’s apartment than in his own dorm.

Blaine didn’t even memorize the name of his NYU roommate until halfway through his freshman year.

Kurt misses how it felt to see Blaine light up a stage and then, unerringly, find Kurt in the audience and beam brighter for him alone.

Blaine is alive, but he isn’t _here_.

But Kurt has his dignity, in tatters though it is, so he writes back, _Thank you. That’s all._

He didn’t intend it to be an homage to The Devil Wears Prada, but when Blaine writes back, _It’s four in the morning, Kurt, don’t make me want to watch Anne Hathaway movies_, Kurt smiles against his will.

_Excuse you. TDWP is a Meryl movie, and I’ll thank you not to confuse the two in future_.

The response is immediate. _Agree to disagree_.

It’s so easy to fall back into banter with him. It’s been four months since they broke up, but they dated for four years.

Still, Kurt reminds himself, their breakup was inevitable. Everyone said it at least once. Even new people say it after they find out that Blaine was Kurt’s boyfriend in high school.

“He was good for you,” his dad still likes to say. “But there are other guys out there, y’know. Blaine’s not the best of all men.”

But…he really was, for a while at least.

Blaine’s first year in New York was dreamlike, the stuff of Sex in the City intros where New York is a glittering stage of perfection. They spent every possible waking moment together. Kurt coaxed Blaine into staying most nights in his apartment (shared with two roommates), and Blaine did extensive research through classmates and Google to find out all the best places to eat so he could keep surprising Kurt with ever more romantic dinner dates.

Then summer happened.

Kurt went back to Ohio for the break, and Blaine stayed at NYU to take summer classes. Kurt suspected it was to avoid being home, so he didn’t push Blaine on his choice. He divided his time between his friends from Dalton and a select few from McKinley (mainly Mercedes and Tina). He spent time with Finn and put up with Rachel’s constant presence until the distance from Blaine made Kurt’s heart actually start to ache. He stopped hanging out with them altogether and the week of what Mercedes calls Weepy-Eyed Bambi Kurt (insulting, untrue, borderline hate crime) began.

Most of Blaine’s updates were about his summer roommate from Japan who kept introducing Blaine to new foods and seemed to cling to Blaine’s shadow an excessive amount. When Kurt complained about this, Tina pointed out that studying abroad can be nerve-wracking for some kids and Blaine probably just made the guy feel comfortable.

Kurt replied, “I’m sure it has nothing to do with how cute my boyfriend is.”

Tina and Mercedes gave him identical looks of judgment for that, so Kurt kept the rest of his suspicions to himself for the rest of the summer and managed to get back to New York with his pride intact.

He was only half expecting Blaine to meet him at LaGuardia, so he was only half upset when it didn’t happen.

Maybe he should have _told_ Blaine when his flight was arriving, but Blaine didn’t ask either, so.

When they met up for the first time, Blaine told Kurt he’d gotten himself cast in a show. An _Off Broadway_ show. After a year of him doing absolutely nothing related to performing. (Much to Kurt’s continued chagrin.)

“You…didn’t tell me you were auditioning for anything,” Kurt said to him, his smile shallow.

“Yeah, I was nervous,” Blaine said, sheepishly lifting a shoulder. “But I did it! I just heard a few days ago.” His smile clearly shouted, _Praise me, I did something amazing!_ and it grated on Kurt’s nerves.

“A few _days_ ago, huh?”

“I know, I’m sorry. I wanted to call you, but I thought it’d be better to tell you in person.”

“I see.”

In retrospect, Kurt was in a weird headspace. They’d spent the summer apart, Kurt alone and watching Finn and Rachel be truly vomit-inducing while listening to Blaine gush about his cool Japanese roommate. It isn’t too surprising, then, that it only took Blaine mentioning that his Cool Japanese Roommate helped him run lines for his Off Broadway audition to set fire to Kurt’s last fuse and make the conversation spiral into an actual argument.

Kurt can’t remember much of it now, but it went to some far-reaching places, pulled some hurtful words from both sides, and ended with:

“You should have just applied to NYADA if you were going to be a performer!”

“I’m nineteen, Kurt, I’m not going to limit my options! I keep telling you!”

“Well, maybe you should just date someone who doesn’t care about you and won’t push you to follow your dreams!”

“Oh, please. Don’t think so highly of yourself. I don’t know what I want to be yet and I just want space to figure that out. Is that such an insane thing to want?”

“You want space? You’ll have it! Plenty of it!”

They parted ways angry, and things just got more awkward after that. They didn’t speak to each other at all for a week, and their mutual friends made things worse by taking sides and keeping the resentful embers bright. Even when Kurt cooled off and decided to try and mend things between them, time just…got away from him.

And now it’s four months later, and he’s dreaming of Blaine burning to death in the building where they met.

Surely there’s no symbolism in that.

Blaine’s next message says: _Are you really not going to tell me why you asked me if I’m alive…?_

Kurt writes back, _Nightmare,_ and leaves it at that.

He’s not surprised that Blaine figures it out quickly. His boy has always been clever. Former boy. Ex boy.

_Your subconscious is killing me now? I didn’t think you were THAT mad at me…_

Kurt can’t really refute what his subconscious is doing, but he does wince. It doesn’t sound good that he’s dreaming about Blaine burning to death, does it.

Kurt doesn’t write back. He shoves his phone under his pillow and tries to sulk his way back to sleep.

But now that he’s actually made contact with Blaine again, he can’t get a firm grasp on _why_ he was so angry four months ago.

Partly…maybe…he supposes…Blaine’s identity as a performer is what drew Kurt to him in the first place. To see him drifting away from the world of performing while Kurt’s world rapidly narrowed down to _only_ performing—and then to find out that Blaine came back to it but _ran lines with someone else_….

It sounded far more horrifying when Kurt related the story to Rachel over coffee three months ago.

…And Kurt might have chosen his post-breakup audiences based on who was most likely to take his side.

Some time later, he’s barely skimming the surface of a REM cycle when Kurt hears the unmistakable sound of the front door unlocking.

Immediately, he’s drawn back to full consciousness and he recalls the whereabouts of his two roommates. Mercedes checked on him after he woke up from his nightmare, and he hasn’t heard a sound from her room since, and he can hear Marcy snoring down the hall.

Kurt’s just thinking of what to use as a weapon (the fake Tony award Wes sent him for his birthday is probably his best bet but he can’t remember where he put it) when he recognizes Blaine’s silhouette approaching his open door.

“_What are you doing here?_” Kurt hisses. He did, of course, remember that he never asked Blaine to give back his key, but neither did Kurt think Blaine would _use_ it.

Blaine seems a little tentative, and he doesn’t actually enter Kurt’s room. He leans on the doorframe instead and glances around Kurt’s room like he’s drinking it all in. Which…well. He did spend most of his freshman year here. He might be feeling nostalgic.

“I just wanted to see if you’d be more relieved or disappointed to see I’m still alive,” Blaine says at just quiet enough a volume to sound more honest than he probably meant to.

Kurt glowers at him. “You did _not_ walk all the way over here to do that,” he whisper-snaps.

Blaine’s smile is a little self-deprecating, but he doesn’t say anything else. His clothes are, frankly, acidic to Kurt’s eyes—ill-fitting plaid pajama bottoms and a violet NYU sweatshirt that Blaine has previously promised is worn ironically—and Kurt isn’t about to forgive the offense just because it’s before sunrise.

He _does_ look cute in them, though. The sweatshirt makes him look cuddly and the pajama bottoms are only barely hanging on over the swell of his ass, and—this is an ambush on Kurt’s sleep-starved mind, and Kurt is _not happy_ to have this reminder of his attraction to his ex.

“Just…get in here and close the door before you wake up Mercedes and Marcy.”

Blaine obeys, but he doesn’t move away from the door. He rests against it, in fact, and offers Kurt a vague sigh.

“So…can we, like…go back four months to when we were on the same page about everything?”

“We weren’t on the same page, Blaine. That’s why we broke up.”

Kurt rubs his aching eyes. He has _not_ had enough sleep for this, and already his mind is switching gears to the very long day he has ahead of him. This is _exactly_ why he didn’t reach out to Blaine after their last fight. Talking about all these issues got to be so _taxing_, both emotionally and physically, and it just devoured all their time together.

When Kurt drops his hands, he’s more than a little startled to see that Blaine’s expression has elevated to outright horrified.

“What?” Kurt demands. “What did I say?”

“We—_what?_”

“_What_ what?”

Blaine makes an emphatic gesture with both arms that Kurt doesn’t understand.

“Words, sweetheart. Use words.” The endearment slips out, but it sounds sarcastic, so Kurt forgives himself.

Blaine makes the gesture again, out of apparent frustration, and whisper-shouts, “We didn’t break up!”

Kurt stares at him.

Blaine stares back, eyebrows high in disbelief.

“Yes, we did,” Kurt says. Crisply. Simply. In small words.

“Uh, no, Kurt,” Blaine says. “I’d remember if we did. I mean—that’s not something a person forgets? What the fuck?”

Kurt can only stare at him some more. “I think your hair gel absorbed the last of your brain,” he says faintly. Such a shame, too. Blaine’s charm has always been the triple threat of talent, beauty, and intelligence.

“When did we break up?” Blaine asks. “Seriously, I want a date and time.”

Kurt’s mouth is hanging open. He feels it accompanies his mood well, so he doesn’t bother closing it. “I beg your pardon?” He’s perfected the annoyed/curious/indignant/bewildered formula for this particular phrase.

Blaine folds his arms over his chest and frowns. “_This_ is why you haven’t talked to me for four months? You thought we _broke up?_”

“Because we _did!_”

“When!?”

“I—look, I can’t remember what _day_ it was, but that last fight we had was pretty definitive, Blaine! And if you thought we were still _together_, then why didn’t you _say anything to me for four months!?_”

“Because I was waiting for _you_ to call m—”

There’s a knock on Kurt’s door.

“Babes, I love you both, but you’ve gotta shut the fuck up and let me rest before my sleep deprivation moves me in such a way that I end up slicing you both into pieces I can dissolve in acid.”

Blaine doesn’t break his intense eye contact with Kurt as he says, “Sorry, Mercedes,” just loud enough to be heard through the door.

“It’s all good. Glad you’re back, Blaine. He missed you.”

Incensed, Kurt takes a breath to yell something devastating at her, but Blaine’s fond smile steals the impulse clean away.

There’s nothing left for Kurt to do but let out a defeated sigh and drop his face into his hands. “For fuck’s sake,” he groans. “I’m skipping my first class, and Noel can take it up with my future therapist if he objects. Come over here.”

Blaine sits next to Kurt on the bed, just like he did so many nights last year, and says, “I missed you too.” His eyes are oddly bright. “I hate fighting with you.”

“Please shut up,” Kurt implores.

Blaine agreeably locks his lips, then hugs Kurt tight.

There is only one boy in the entirety of the world who Kurt would allow into his arms wearing a tacky, terribly overpriced, cheaply made university sweatshirt, and it’s this gorgeous headache smiling sweetly against Kurt’s neck right now.

There isn’t a breath in the world deep enough to clear Kurt’s head of every horrible moment from the last four months, but Kurt does his best anyway. Whenever they wake up, they’ll discuss this in more detail and make sense of the last four months.

For now, though, he yanks Blaine a little too roughly into his arms under the blankets and whispers, “I hate this stupid sweatshirt,” and Blaine whispers back, “That’s why I wore it,” with a smirk against Kurt’s collarbone.

•

They fight before dinner. Kurt walks out of the apartment, leaving Blaine alone to eye the carrot and lentil soup simmering on the stove. He has half a mind to take some for himself and then leave the pot outside in the hallway for Kurt to seethe over when he comes home.

Naturally, Blaine isn’t petty or wasteful enough to _do_ it, but he is _exactly_ petty enough to enjoy the fantasy.

When he’s taken some time to calm down, he pours most of it into a container to store in the fridge, then carries a bowl of it to the bedroom where he eats by himself.

Fighting with Kurt has always unequivocally sucked. It sucks more now that they live together and all of the space around Blaine is filled with memories they’ve created together over the years.

He already wants to apologize.

Most of the time, Blaine is proud of the fact that he and Kurt have managed to stay relatively solid as a couple throughout their time at Dalton and now in New York. Weird blip in sophomore year aside, that is. But Blaine’s senior showcase and Kurt’s job at Studio K are draining them both of their energy. Their exhaustion has led to promises made and forgotten, messages skimmed and misinterpreted, and gestures offered and overlooked. All of their little mistakes and oversights have transformed their cozy home into a minefield with no safe path in any direction.

Earlier, Kurt made some snide comments about Blaine paying most of the rent with money taken from his parents. Blaine pointed out that Kurt agreed to that over a year ago when they moved in and they can’t afford to live here without the help. “And if you don’t want it,” he’d pointed out, ”we’ll have to move.”

Kurt may hate accepting financial help from people who only barely acknowledge their relationship (Blaine’s mother still prefers to call Kurt his roommate rather than his boyfriend, even though Blaine has repeatedly told her that it diminishes their relationship), but Kurt also loves this apartment and he clearly doesn’t want to move. A cyclical argument ensued and now he’s out there somewhere, pissed off but experienced enough not to come back until he’s cooled off.

Blaine finishes his soup and puts the bowl on the side table, his mind creating terrible scenarios against his will. Maybe Kurt will run into one of the twelve guys Kurt works with who Blaine knows—_for a fact_—are head over heels for him. Then maybe Kurt will listen to their terrible come-ons with barely-veiled disdain and a _tiny_ bit of interest. Finally, Blaine’s cruel imagination decides, Kurt will go home with one of them. He’ll text Mercedes and ask her to tell Blaine that he’s not coming home tonight. Or ever again.

Blaine barely resists texting Mercedes right now to ask if she’s heard from Kurt. He’s only been gone twenty minutes, and it usually takes Kurt an hour or so to calm down and work himself up to coming home.

As if summoned, a brisk gust of wind rattles the bedroom window. A bitter, wintry chill leaks through the gaps, making the hair on Blaine’s bare forearms stand up. Kurt didn’t take a single one of his four hundred and six scarves with him when he left, and as much as Blaine enjoys pampering Kurt when he’s sick, he doesn’t actually enjoy his sweetheart _being_ sick.

He’s on the brink of going out to find Kurt himself (with _two_ scarves) when a familiar jangling noise at the front door seizes his attention.

Their apartment building is old, and so is their door. You have to turn the key a full rotation and a half to lock or unlock it for some weird reason, and Kurt regularly forgets which direction to turn it. Blaine genuinely loves the agitated metallic noises that Kurt’s struggle produces, and this time is no different.

Because he had the warning, Blaine’s standing in the living room with his arms crossed when Kurt finally shoves the door open. He’s got one of Kurt’s brightest red scarves wrapped around his hand like a visual “see the dumb thing you did?” cue.

Kurt closes the door behind him, meets Blaine’s eyes, then takes in the rest of the situation. In a tone Blaine recognizes as cautiously sarcastic, Kurt says, “I forgot my scarf.”

Blaine can’t resist. “Which one?”

Kurt doesn’t take the bait. His flat expression, in fact, is practically a monologue of disinterest.

Coincidentally, the play Kurt’s studio is putting up right now is all about conflict in relationships. Three different couples with very different issues, and the thread connecting all of them is that one side of the couple always gives in too quickly, and so their problems continue and worsen until everything collapses.

Blaine’s seen the run through twice, and he loves it.

But he understands the difference between reality and fiction, and he thinks it’s smart if he’s the one to back down here.

“I’m sorry,” he says.

Kurt narrows his eyes.

Okay, fair to question his sincerity. The scarf thing is immature.

Blaine tosses it over the back of the sofa and makes an apologetic “there, happy?” face.

Kurt rolls his eyes and tries to walk past Blaine to their bedroom, but he passes just close enough that Blaine can sigh with exasperation and grab him around the waist. They end up pressed together in the living room, Kurt’s hands on Blaine’s shoulders with his arms wedged stubbornly between their chests.

“I’m still mad,” Kurt grumbles.

Blaine kisses his nose. “I know. You’re still cute, too. It’s pretty impressive.”

“Blaine—”

Blaine unwinds his arms from Kurt’s waist to reach up and intertwine their contrastingly warm and frozen fingers. Blaine brings their arms gently down to their sides and leans in until their foreheads touch.

“Kurt,” he says.

“What.”

“You’re right.”

Surprise flashes across Kurt’s eyes, followed by suspicion.

“We shouldn’t take their money.”

Kurt says, “And why do you say that now? Because I’m pissed?”

“No. It’s for me.”

Blaine has never had a job, and his parents pay his tuition and rent just like they did for Cooper. Sometimes, though, they threaten to take it all away, and it ends with Blaine in the throes of panic over what he’s going to do without easy money at his fingertips. Kurt, understandably, doesn’t have much sympathy for him, and Blaine’s gotten tired of his own spoiled expectations.

Blaine quirks a halfhearted smile and, when he senses Kurt softening a little, kisses him.

“After my showcase is over and I start work, we should move out of Manhattan.“

Kurt winces. He’s become a borough snob, and his job is here. He’s complained at length about Brooklyn, Queens, the Bronx, every subway line in the city, and he’s accustomed to walking seven blocks to work. He loves their neighborhood. He has a bagel place where everyone knows him. He’s comfortable.

It’s why Kurt let them live outside their means for so long, which Blaine has known from the beginning. It’s why they can’t keep doing this.

Kurt sighs. “Depending on where we move, even with two salaries—especially whatever pittance they’re going to pay you directly out of college that’s only slightly lower than the pittance _I’m_ getting paid—we may need to get a roommate or two…again,” he says. It’s with the same tone of voice that he’d use to say, “I was forced to cut up my favorite pair of Louboutins with a blunt nail clipper.”

Blaine squeezes his hands and nods. He’s already mourning the loud sex they’ve been able to have without roommates. Still, being quiet can be a fun challenge. And it’ll be worth it to know that what they have, they’ve earned for themselves.

Blaine kisses Kurt again, closing his eyes and taking his time. He only draws back when he’s felt Kurt lean a little more against him.

“Can I ask you something?” Blaine says.

Kurt opens his eyes, already visibly more affectionate than he has been toward Blaine all evening. “Mm?” He unlaces their fingers and adjusts his grip to hold Blaine’s hands tighter.

“When we make enough to rent a place like this on our own, will you marry me?”

Kurt blinks twice, then another four times in rapid succession. “Blaine Devon Anderson,” he says slowly, “did you just waste your marriage proposal on a discussion about real estate?”

Blaine snorts. “Of course not,” he says. “This is pre-proposal. The actual proposal will go viral, guaranteed. Besides, you’ve already asked me to marry you, like, six times this month.”

“Um, excuse me, what is said at the height of passion is _not_ applicable in real life spaces—”

“Real li—so wait, sex takes place in virtual reality now?”

“It can,” Kurt says with a grin.

Blaine makes a show of rolling his eyes, but he’s sure his wide smile is ruining the effect.

When Kurt slides his mouth against Blaine’s, there’s some pretty deep intent there, and Blaine relaxes into it with the familiarity of years.

“I’m still hungry,” Kurt says, but he seems more intent on making out with Blaine than addressing his hunger issue.

Blaine’s somewhat on Team Makeout, but he’s always been a devoted fan of Kurt’s health and happiness, so he gradually draws the deep kiss back to something light enough that he can pull away from entirely. “I put your share of the soup in the fridge,” he says. “Want me to heat it up?”

Kurt opens his mouth (so red, so soft, so tempting) in feigned outrage. “You _ate_ with_out_ me?“

“I’ll eat you out after?” Blaine suggests.

Kurt pushes him away by the face, valiantly trying not to laugh. “No one has _any_ idea what I live with,” he says, heading to the kitchen. “People think, ‘Oh, Kurt’s boyfriend is such a wholesome sweetheart,’ and I just have to stand there and _pretend_ that my boyfriend isn’t an actual _goblin_.”

Kurt’s clearly enjoying himself and building up to a truly historic rant, so Blaine just leans on the sofa and lets him go on.

He’s got a bet going with himself on how long it’ll take Kurt to get distracted from reheating his soup and continue the makeup portion of their fight.

(He bet thirty seconds. It’s thirty-one.)

**Author's Note:**

> I'm happy to discuss how superb Blaine and Kurt are as a couple on my [Twitter](https://twitter.com/hadakanomind). \:D/


End file.
